


Don’t Listen to Him, Listen to Me

by cherrywinecrowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale doesn’t have an eating disorder but he gets nervous about eating and cuts back, Aziraphale gets self conscious, Body Image, Body Image Struggles, Comfort, Fluff, Gabriel is a dick even though he’s hardly mentioned, Light Angst, Supportive Crowley, Wanted to be respectful to everyone so throwing that out there, ineffable husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:47:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrywinecrowley/pseuds/cherrywinecrowley
Summary: A few days after the almost apocalypse, Aziraphale is left to his own devices. He starts to feel self-conscious and fixates on what Gabriel told him in the park. Crowley notices something’s wrong when all the angel orders is black coffee.He hates black coffee.





	Don’t Listen to Him, Listen to Me

Crowley stopped by the bookshop on Tuesday to tell Aziraphale that he was going out of town for a little while. And unlike his friend, he was always able to relay his messages quickly and concisely. His business was something to do with an upcoming election with the local politicians two towns over, and it was hopefully going to be over soon, which meant he’d drop by again later in the month. While he currently had no obligations to Hell, Crowley still liked to meddle in things from time to time, for the sake of meddling. And this would be a quick meddle. 

“Remember to let me know if you see anything...troubling.” Crowley said, halfway out the door. He cast Aziraphale one last glance through his sunglasses. “See you soon angel.”

Aziraphale nodded and waved, a polite smile plastered on his face up until Crowley disappeared down the street and out of sight. He let out a small sigh and sat back on the sofa. He didn’t like that Crowley was leaving so soon after everything had happened. Or rather, didn’t happen. It was a miracle the two of them were still alive, what with the (almost) apocalypse and their respective trials and all. Aziraphale snorted at the thought of “his” trial. Crowley had told him everything. “As if you could call that mess with Gabriel a trial,” he muttered, “More like a burning at the stake.” And while at the moment it appeared that both heaven and hell wanted nothing to do with them, it didn’t mean that would always be the case. Knowing what could’ve been...Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. 

He was going to take his mind off things, he decided. Aziraphale would change and take a walk through the park, and settle in for an afternoon of light reading on his favorite bench. As he gathered his things and put on a fresh coat, he paused when he caught his reflection in the mirror. And then he frowned. His clothes were impeccably clean and wrinkle free, although the crisp, clean white linen and shiny buttons were not what caught his attention. Rather, it was the curve of his belly and the roundness of his face. The way his vest clung tightly to his stomach, and the seams of his jacket tightened around his arms. He turned one way, and then another. Every angle frustrated him more and more the longer he stared. 

“Lose the gut.” 

Gabriel’s condescending voice rang in his ear once more. He knew that in that moment at the park Gabriel simply wanted him more fit for battle, but the words were still unkind. It was a silly thing for an angel to worry about, and yet it was truly bothering him. This is what his customers saw everyday, these are what the passerby in the park would see today. This form is what Crowley would see whenever he returned. 

Crowley. 

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what direction the two of them were headed in. They had been dancing around their feelings for each other for thousands of years and only recently had Aziraphale felt comfortable with the notion of taking things further. The memories from Eden’s wall, memories of Crowley’s fiery hair, golden eyes and tickled smile were seared into his brain. Crowley loved him then. Aziraphale tried his best to brush off anything he felt through further encounters by telling himself that they were hereditary enemies, that two of them could not ever be together, let alone be friends. But that never truly convinced him. In spite of all the barriers he worked to put up between them Crowley always managed to chip away at them, whether it was with the silkiness of his voice or the throaty way he laughed, or anything else that made Crowley who he was. Just being in his presence made the angel’s heart flutter and drum wildly against his chest. And the simple look Crowley gave him back in the 40’s as he handed him a stack of dusty books from a pile of rubble, the nonchalant way he passed off that grand gesture as a “demonic miracle”, well...Aziraphale realized in that moment that he loved him back. 

And now it seemed as if this slow burn, this fire that had burned through centuries, could finally become something. They could work towards something. Aziraphale didn’t need to lie in order to protect him from the other angels. Crowley didn’t need to take great lengths to hide his whereabouts from other demons. The arrangement could cease, and they could focus on themselves. They could be, well, something. 

Except now he was nervous. Now he felt unprepared. He was, to put it in his own words, soft. Crowley wouldn’t want him like this. Would he? 

He felt ashamed of himself.

“Nonsense.” He spoke aloud, trying out a smile in the mirror. The smile quickly dropped when he observed the skin around his chin. He could miracle himself into better shape, but he decided against the idea rather quickly. For now, heaven wasn’t paying attention, and he thought he ought to keep it that way. A miracle like that could land him on someone’s radar. Aziraphale sighed, a heavier, defeated sigh. That meant the only thing to do was to stop indulging in his lunches, and drinks, and sushi, and nibbles, and oh- 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be having those things anyway. 

“I’m a gluttonous angel!” He cried out suddenly, running his hands through his hair as he admonished himself. “Angels don’t need to eat. But they can. And I’m choosing to, I’m choosing to eat this stuff all the time! Why didn’t I catch on sooner?” Aziraphale lamented at this thought. How could he have let this go on for so long? It had been centuries! He then thought of Gabriel and soured. If he could take the time to write him up for frivolous miracles, he could’ve said something like, “Hey, I noticed you’ve been wishing scones into the bookshop. You should probably stop.” 

“Well no more.” Aziraphale said to himself, smoothing out his coat and turning away from his reflection. “I’m just...well, I’m going to fix this.”

xxxxx

Crowley showed up about a week later. The whole thing was cleared up by Thursday. “The lot of them are damned, and I got bored.” He leaned against a bookshelf as Aziraphale watched him from his spot on the couch. The angel patted the seat next to him. “Well, I haven’t been out much. Sit down and relax my dear boy. Do tell me more about your trip.” 

“I figured I’d do that over lunch.” Crowley motioned over to the front door, switching the sign to read “closed” with a snap of his fingers. “It’s nearly noon, bet you’re peckish.” 

Aziraphale laughed uneasily. He scratched his head as he desperately sought for a way to get them out of going out. “Oh it’s quite alright, I bet you’re still tired from the drive. Plus most places around here are probably very busy this close to lunch time.”

“So? Nothing a little miracle wouldn’t fix.” When Aziraphale still insisted he was fine, settling on a soft “It’s quite alright.” as his final answer, Crowley let out a small noise of disbelief, shaking his head. “Never thought I’d see the day you’d turn down lunch.”

“Well today is the day!” Aziraphale fired back, a little more testily than he wanted to. Crowley furrowed his brows and studied his friend closely, before leaning in closely to hiss, “I don’t know why you’re getting so bloody cross with me over a stupid lunch. Forget I asked.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Aziraphale mumbled softly, and he meant it. Crowley had no idea what kind of thoughts were going on in his head. Crowley never had to worry about anything like this. He was tall, lean, and wiry. Everything about him was taut and smoldering. He had sharp features and an air of confidence was always permanently attached to him. He wouldn’t understand. “I’m just not in the right sorts I suppose.”

“It’s alright. I get it. We were almost fried to a crisp.” Crowley made his way over to the couch and perched himself right next to the angel. “Believe me I was on edge the entire time I was on this job. I didn’t like the idea of you being here by yourself.”

Aziraphale smiled, letting out a soft “Oh.” at Crowley’s little confession. Crowley straightened and coughed, trying to set his face with a mean glare. “Don’t take it that way! I just meant if someone came after you you’d bugger things up somehow, and I’d have to rescue you all over again. How many times do I have to tell you-“

“You’re not nice.” Aziraphale finished for him.

It was Crowley’s turn to smile. 

xxxxx

Things moved quickly and slowly all at once. Aziraphale changed his bookshop’s hours to be even more unreasonable, and he was quite proud of himself when he didn’t sell a book for the entire month. He started spending more and more time at Crowley’s apartment, which Crowley would never admit he enjoyed. In fact, he had every right to complain, because the ferns weren’t quivering as much. “It’s your stupid dulcet tones,” Crowley remarked one day, “Invite a bloody angel over and they all get soft.”

Things were different, and aside from the fact that his plants were now rebellious traitors, Crowley liked it. Aziraphale had brought over some lamps and it made his dreary apartment more cozy and inviting. He brought his favorite books over which meant his late night reading took place on the demon’s couch, rather than his own. Sometimes in the morning he’d find little notes stuck to the fridge and his favorites were when Aziraphale was in the middle of a long thought, and he committed it to paper rather than just tell him what he wanted to say. “I might be home late today, heard there was a big sale downtown and I thought I might pick up some fresh things for dinner after I close up shop, be a dear and go pick out some wine from that place you like, maybe a white to switch things up-“

Sometimes notes like these were front to back, and even transferred over to another note. Or four.

Without ever discussing it, Aziraphale had essentially moved in. White suits found their way into the closet. Boxes of tea were stashed in the cupboards. Vanilla scented candles burned in the evening. 

Crowley relished every bit of Aziraphale that had made its way into his home. Their home. This would’ve never happened six hundred years ago, or even six months ago. But things were different now, and he was more than happy with the direction the two of them were headed in.

However, things were different with Aziraphale too. Something changed. Crowley noticed the angel was eating less and less. Crowley was used to ordering a black coffee for lunch, but Aziraphale had been following suit lately. He had noticed that when he would suggest dining out, or grabbing a quick bite, his friend’s first instinct was to laugh, that kind of uneasy laugh you make when you’re hiding something. And then it would be followed with, “I actually just ate my dear, perhaps later”, or “Maybe another time, I’m just not in the mood for sweets.” If they did manage to go out, Aziraphale would order his coffee and gaze at it gloomily, only managing to down a few sips before letting it get cold. A few bites of salad or spoonfuls of soup, and then he’d ask for the check. Crowley couldn't even remember the last time he’d seen the angel have dessert. 

He’d decided to do a little test, rather, an experiment. If Aziraphale tried to wriggle his way out of another meal, he’d know something was truly amiss. At the same time he snapped his fingers, a lively restaurant just so happened to spring to life in what felt like mere seconds, not too far from the flat. 

Aziraphale called out for Crowley in the dimly lit apartment as he stumbled into the doorway, his arms filled with two heavy, book-laden bags. “I’m home!” 

Crowley rounded the hallway. He clasped his hands together and looked over at Aziraphale expectantly. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to get home.”

“Really?” Aziraphale said, a hint of surprise in his voice. He dropped the bag next to a large, overflowing stack of books. (Crowley internally screamed, for this was the fourteenth and fifteenth bag that was brought home this week). “Whatever for?”

“Well, you won’t believe this,” Crowley started, “I just read they opened up a nice little French restaurant a block from the bookshop. It’s got nice reviews, and they make those tiny pancake things you like.”

“Crepes.” Aziraphale said, all color vanishing from his face.

“Yes, crepes!” Crowley drawled on. “If we leave now, we can be the first ones there. They open up for the dinner rush at five.”

“Oh, oh well that sounds nice,” Aziraphale began stuttering as he wracked his brain for an excuse, “But I must tell you, why I, why I um, well, maybe not tonight dear, I-I’m afraid-“

“That’s it.” Crowley snapped, slamming his palm down so hard on the coffee table that the wood splintered and cracked throughout. Aziraphale jumped back, his eyes going wide from shock at the sudden outburst. “Come off it. Why the hell aren’t you eating?” 

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Aziraphale said, feigning innocence. He tried to sound firm as he pointed to the broken table. “And now you’ve ruined perfectly good furniture.”

“I can buy another fucking table.” Crowley growled. “Seriously, start talking. Because I’ve had enough. You love this shit and I know you’re not giving it up cold turkey because you want to. Just tell me the reason. Are you scared someone is watching us?”

“No.” Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Then what is it? What the hell is it?” Crowley was growing more impatient by the minute. When the angel remained silent, Crowley stalked over to him and gripped his shoulders. 

“Crowley, please-“ Aziraphale pleaded before the demon cut him off. 

“Start fucking talking.” 

“Crowley-“

“NOW!” 

“I HAVE A GUT!” Aziraphale cried out. 

Crowley blinked. He had never heard Aziraphale yell before, and he definitely did not like it. Especially because it was followed by tears, and sniffles, and worst of all, shaking. “Excuse me?” Crowley said quietly.

“I have a gut.” Aziraphale repeated. He wouldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes as he continued. “We each have earthly pleasures that we indulge in, I just, I just happened to love food. And everything about it, the taste, the textures, the history, the love...I’m a being of love, and when I can taste the love and attention that was put into something, even something as simple as freshly baked bread, oh, Crowley it’s divine. But I’m afraid I’ve overindulged. Look at me. I certainly don’t look like the angel I used to be. And I never seemed to notice, not until recently. Not until Gabriel shamed me for it. And he was right to do so, Crowley. I can’t believe how much of a glutton I’ve become. And...and...” He turned away from the demon, his cheeks tinged pink from the confession he’d just made. He was about to make another one, and he stopped himself. Maybe this was a mistake, even telling Crowley this much. 

“Go on, angel.” Crowley said gently. 

Aziraphale let go of the breath he was holding onto and continued. “Whatever...this is, between us, whatever we’re moving towards, I just don’t want it to end because you don’t like what you see. Now that we’re on our side and we have more freedom, I don’t know what exactly is going to happen. But what if it never goes any further than this? Because of how I look?”

Crowley was quiet. And he stayed quiet. Aziraphale looked up at him and let out a defeated sigh. “I shouldn’t have said a word. I’ve made a mess of things.”

Crowley shook his head. “No, no, forgive me angel. I’m just thinking.” 

“About what?”

“I’m trying to figure out what was the stupidest thing you said,” Crowley replied rather casually. “You said a bloody lot of stupid things that I’m numbering them.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale croaked out. 

“Calling yourself a gluttonous angel, that’s one. Spewing hate about your stomach, that’s two. God, the part about Gabriel being right, that might take the cake. Think you were trying to kill me with that one.” 

Aziraphale huffed indignantly. “Do you even care about a word I just said?”

“I do.” Crowley said. He took Aziraphale’s hands in his, turning them slightly to press a kiss to his left palm, and then to his right. He squeezed both of his hands and looked Aziraphale in the eyes as he spoke. “I told you in Eden, when we first met, that I didn’t think you could do the wrong thing if you tried. I meant it then, and I mean it now. There is nothing gluttonous about ordering sushi. Or getting a craving for crepes. Or accepting a dinner invitation from someone you love.” Crowley paused to trace small circles on the surface of Aziraphale’s hands, pressing more kisses to them. “Gluttony is excessive, it’s greedy, it’s everything you’re not. You are not a gluttonous angel. As for Gabriel, I want you to forget whatever that prick told you, because it’s not true. He’s exhibit A, prime evidence that not all angels are good, or at least “inherently” good. Don’t let someone like him make you lose confidence in yourself.” 

“Finally,” Crowley said, his voice as soft and gentle as ever, “Nothing in this great big world, nothing out there in that vast universe, holds a candle to you. Nothing that I have ever come across is as striking, breathtaking, and wholeheartedly wonderful as you are. Nothing is going to change my mind about that. About you.”

Aziraphale grabbed onto Crowley’s jacket and pulled him in for a bruising kiss. Crowley was ready, his lips parted immediately and he reached up to grab Aziraphale’s face in his hands. Gently, as if his cheeks were the most delicate, precious thing in the entire world. Crowley tried to be soft and sweet with his touches and kisses but he was met with a frustrated groan and a slight shove backwards. Never did Crowley think that he wouldn’t be in control of his first kiss with Aziraphale. But it was Aziraphale who kept pushing, it was his hands that found their way into Crowley’s hair, tugging slightly and earning a soft moan from the demon. It was his body that pinned Crowley to the wall, his lips that dominated every kiss. It was all so much so fast, teeth clashed and moans filled the apartment as they moved against each other.

Much too quickly for Crowley’s liking, Aziraphale broke the kiss and pulled back. They both stood in place, chests heaving, eyes half lidded. But then Aziraphale’s eyes flickered with change, like they did when he was sobering up. Crowley didn’t like that. 

“Crowley, I’m so-“

“Don’t.” Crowley interrupted. He walked over to Aziraphale and stood in front of him. A minute lingered between them. Azirapahle opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he noticed Crowley’s hands moving. He trembled slightly as he reached up and took off his sunglasses. Slowly and carefully, he folded them and placed them on the end table. Crowley opened his eyes and looked Aziraphale, who sucked in a deep breath. He always loved Crowley’s eyes. A striking yellow that seemed to soften right before him in that very moment.

“Figured if you could bare all with me, I could do the same.” Crowley chuckled, but his voice still had an air of uncertainty about it. Aziraphale took his hand in his and squeezed, as a gesture of appreciation and a sign to continue. 

“Don’t apologize for that kiss. Don’t apologize for anything. I’ve been waiting for that since the beginning. And I’ve got to say angel, you were worth the wait.”

Azirphale blinked away several tears before standing up and pressing another kiss to Crowley’s lips. Not too forceful, not too placid. Just tender. Crowley took his hand and led them to their bedroom, the door closing as soon as they reached for each other again.

And that was the rest of the night. As the sun met the outlines of the hills and the stars grew brighter in the sky, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves tangled together underneath silk sheets. Every touch, every kiss, everything was reassuring, comforting, and tender. Aziraphale grew weary under the weight of his lover, whose arms were draped over his chest lazily. His nose was pressed in the crook of the angel’s neck as he drifted off. His eyes had already fluttered closed and Aziraphale smiled at the sound of his soft breathing. Right before his eyes grew too heavy, Aziraphale cast a glance over to the mirrored closet. He saw Crowley’s leg hooked over his hip and his long arms resting over him, his hands settling on his stomach. Two people, wonderfully bare and intimate, twisted together. His heart felt full. It was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen in the world. 

True love at its finest. 

xxxxx

It was a week later, and Crowley took Aziraphale out to dinner. They ordered a dinner for two special, complete with an appetizer, salad, two entrees, and dessert to share. They talked through the entire date, laughing and stealing nibbles off of each other’s forks. Aziraphale took a bite of the cheesecake and closed his eyes, savoring the taste. Crowley took a swig of his wine and gave his angel an amused smile.

“That good eh?” 

Aziraphale nodded and patted the corners of his mouth with his cloth napkin. “Scrumptious. Every bite. You spoil me darling.” 

The waiter approached their table and placed the bill between them. He also attempted to subtly hand Crowley a card, which slipped from his hand and landed right on top of the cheesecake. Crowley lowered his glasses and stared darkly at the poor boy, who uttered a quick apology before scampering off to the kitchen again. Crowley pulled the card from the cheesecake and made a face as he wiped the cream off his fingers. He placed the card in his jacket pocket and then reached to grab the check. 

Aziraphale was staring at him.

“What?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale pointed to where he stuffed the card. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Crowley said quickly. Denial, yes. Denial might work.

“The bloody card, demon.” Aziraphale said, exasperated. “What does it say?”

“Words.” Crowley said lamely before slapping some bills onto the table and standing up. He yawned in a dramatic fashion and turned away from his lover, who was positively fuming in his seat. “I’m getting tired, good meal huh angel? Let’s head home.”

“Crowley. The card.” Aziraphale tugged on his jacket and pulled him down back into his seat. He was not going to let this go. Crowley shot one more look at the waiter, smiling smugly when he tripped and spilled several glasses of water onto the floor. Rightful punishment for not being able to keep a surprise, well, a surprise. 

“Right well uh...it’s a recipe card.” Crowley scratched his head and looked around the restaurant, his eyes landing anywhere but on Aziraphale. “Thought since you were eating again and you went absolutely mad over the angel hair spaghetti-by the way the irony of that is not lost on me-that I’d try making it. Was going to keep it a secret and surprise you but that kettle head over there can’t slip people cards, apparently. Absolute moron. Anyway the point is I can manage it. I think I’ve got a pot at home. If not I can buy one. What’s the average price for a pot? Should we go pot shopping?”

Aziraphale stood up and kissed Crowley, who was a floundering, stuttering mess at this point. When he pulled back, he was beaming, his blue eyes brimming with those blasted happy tears again. Crowley melted.

“You’re wonderful darling. Thank you for everything you’ve done. And I mean everything. For waiting for me to come around, for letting me into your home. Picking me up after I’ve fallen apart. Telling me it’s okay to be myself. I’m eternally grateful Crowley.” 

Crowley choked out something that sounded dismissive, like “It’s okay” or “It’s nothing”. 

Aziraphale laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh, I love you. Come now, let’s go home.”

“You what?” Crowley sputtered. 

Aziraphale smiled, a genuine happy smile that dared to be just a little bit of a smirk. He walked away and headed for the door, thanking their waiter (who was noticeably much more pale than before) and stopping to pocket a few butterscotch candies from the hostess desk. They hadn’t said that to each other yet, which was the reason Crowley was red in the face and slow to react to what was going on around him. He finally stood up from their table and started sprinting towards Aziraphale. 

“You...you don’t get to kiss me first, AND say I love you first!” Crowley spat out in distress. 

“I’m just taking your advice and being more confident.” Aziraphale said cheerily. “Now, I do believe you said you wanted to cook for me? Let’s stop at the bakery on the way home too, nothing quite like fresh bread compliments a meal. Come darling, we’ve got things to do, can’t have you gaping like a fish the entire afternoon, can we?”

Crowley followed Aziraphale out the door and down the street. He followed him everywhere else the rest of the day. He was going to follow him until there were no more days. 

Crowley told Aziraphale he loved him back later that evening, over a second helping of angel hair spaghetti.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I’ve ever published! Hope you guys like it.


End file.
